


Loaded

by SpoiledAmbrosia



Category: Smile For Me (Video Game)
Genre: Beer chugging, Button Popping, Clothes Ripping, Drunken Binge, Gen, Gigachunk!Parsley, Messy eating, Stuffing, Tipsy Gluttony, Wanton Abuse of A Table, Weight Gain, belly inflation, hyper fat, i mean hes friggin HUGE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 08:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19292191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpoiledAmbrosia/pseuds/SpoiledAmbrosia
Summary: It's not too often they get a customer whose wallet is as big as his stomach.





	Loaded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JaredFace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaredFace/gifts).



> another commission for a friend!! adored this one and even made up some ocs to make the thing a little bit more fun!! enjoy!!! oc deets at the end!

“Yo, Chili!” 

 

Chili peeked out the kitchen’s window, thick brows bunching up at the red and sweaty face of his boss, flaxen curls sticking to his forehead. In his boss’ hand, he held another stack of plates, bones and sauce littering them. With a quiet huff, Chili took them through the narrow window, carefully pulling them through. “He finished already?” Chili muttered, most of the fight taken out of him. It’d been a  _ night _ , and this -  _ blimp _ of a man was eating them out of business. Through the window, Chili heard a sated  _ buuururrrp _ echo in the diner. He squinted, looking down at his boss.

 

His boss, Mr. Fry, only gave him a stern look, fixing him with a judgemental point of his greasy fingers. “You just keep ‘em comin’ and _ zip it!  _ He’s payin’, so we’re gonna serve him!” With that rant out of his system, the short man turned around and sped off. Chili scowled at the ripe  _ gooorugling _ , sounding more like a bomb than a man. 

 

Grabbing a handful of battered wings, Chili dunked them in the hot oil, snickering darkly at the thought. “Keep this up and he’s bound to  _ pop _ ,” Chili mused out loud, a curious snort and a quick glance out his window had his theoretical bomb in his sight. Chili chuckled, shaking his head. “Hey, he’s buyin’.” 

 

Back in the diner, Mr. Fry approached a very full booth with the utmost caution. The table wobbled and strained under the fleshy bulk set on top of it, wedged into a dimpling double gut, it’s ravenous owner barely noticing him as he sucked a handful of wings dry. A relieved groan left the man’s mouth, Mr. Fry tried for his attention. “H-”

 

_ “BBBR _ _ -RRRRRUU _ _ -UUUUUURR _ _ -RAAAPPPP~” _ Parsley’s gut bubbled tremendously over the table, a concerning  _ crrrack _ and the bare flesh peeking from his increasingly unbuttoned pants. Mr. Fry eyed the few that had collected across from the man, a small pile of lost buttons. A second, wetter belch blew a spicy gas overhead, Mr. Fry’s eyes nearly watering from the sting. 

 

Parsley sighed, letting go of the handful of wings, catching the owner in the corner of his eye. “Oh, hey, man,” a lazy smile pulled on his plump face, sucking sauce off his thick fingers, moaning indecently around them. “Got some great wings here,  _ hrm. _ ” Parsley pulled off his pinky with a pop, grabbing another handful and jamming a few into his squishing cheeks. 

 

Mr. Fry’s red face beamed with pride, standing a little straighter. “A guy like you knows his wings, huh? Like those? We’ve got honey barbeque, chipotle, doubled fried- wanna try?” Mr. Fry’s eyes saw dollar signs in Parsley’s wide grin.

 

“Hmrm, that sounds so _ gooo-ood. _ Gimme a bunch of those, too, and a few more of these!” Raising a handful of the spicy wings, Parsley promptly sucked a few dry. “I can’t get enough!” Parsley’s gut gave an upset churn, the suited man using his - relatively - clean to grab a chunky fold of his baring gut, fingers trying to pull his riding shirt back down. He looked a little displeased, his wide shoulders rolling with his shrug. “Tailor’s been seein’ a whole lot more of a me, but -  _ hmrm, _ ” he picked up the complementary blue cheese, rising above his head and squirting a stream into his full mouth. He swallowed, mouth yawning open and- 

 

“ _ BRUUUUOOOOUU _ _ OOOUURRR _ _ RRAAA _ _ Uuu _ _ uup _ , whew. ‘cuse me.” Parsley gathered the dressing in the corner of his mouth, sucking the cheese off his thumb with a pleased hum. He gave a solid smack to his bloated side, lovehandle more like an overinflated tire. “Tailor says he’s makin’ my suits as big as he can, but-” Parsley tugged at the hem of his undershirt, tanned belly digging into the table, squeezing another low belch out of him. “This one’s feelin’ a little snug already.” Reaching his wing bucket, a frustrated growl rose in his throat.

 

“Hey, where’s the rest?” Parsley started to complain, looking over his gut to the plate that weren’t stuck under his gut. His face scrunched up under his gut’s hard and gooey churn, Mr. Fry stepping back a few paces when the round tank _ bulged  _ out, burying more of the table under it’s growing cliff. The thunder of another burp knocked around in Parsley’s gut, his face bulging as his throat worked under his jostling fat. “Oh, boy, that’s gonna be a big o _ o _ _ OOOOOUU _ **_U_ ** **_RRRRRR_ ** **_RRRUUURRR_ ** **_-_ ** ooh, anyway. Those wings?” 

 

Mr. Fry blinked, looking dazed, eyes stuck on Parsley’s gut. “Wings?” 

 

Parsley nodded, patted his gut, leaning back in the booth with a scary  _ creak.  _ “Yeah, I’ll take…” 

 

Mr. Fry let out a yelp as he was butted forward, turning around with his temper about to peek up, a huge shadow cast over him. Above him, Chili stood with a loaded tray, eyes searching the table for room to put it. He hadn’t skimped out on the spread, the lot of it hot and still crackling from the fryer. 

 

Potatoes, loaded into a huge clump of shredded cheese and fries and bacon bits. A basket of fries was next to it, cooked to golden crispness, a deep cup of ketchup set in the middle. The tray still left room for pair of wing buckets, pepper and tangy sweet sauce on the juicy appetizers. Burgers, juice leaking off freshly cut lettuce and tomatoes, fried onions piled high under toasted buns and layered with melted cheese. Balanced in the middle of it all were a few mugs of beer, cold foam bubbling over and spilling down the glass.  

 

“Urhh,” a blush peppered Chili cheeks, looking down and away from Parsley’s gut. “Got you a sampler,” he explained, offered it out to the stuffed man. “Got some more cooking the back, think this’ll tide you over ‘til?” 

 

Mr. Fry jumped back at the starved grumble that left the table and diner floor  _ quaking _ , Parsley’s gut putting unneeded pressure on the overtaxed table. “Oh, heck, yeah.” Flattening himself as much as his rotund figure would allow, Parsley patted his belly eagerly. “Just set ‘em here and keep ‘em coming!”  

 

Chili seemed torn on following the command, but a sharp nudge to the knee from his boss spurred him into action. Just like he’d asked, Parsley was treated to his full tray being set right on his demanding gut, eyes lighting up with delight at the spread. 

 

“Hmm, thanks for the brews! Just what I needed to wash down those wings!” Hiking one of the tall mugs high, Parsley’s tongue wet his lips before he started to drink from the frothing rim, rolls of fat around his neck jiggling as he started chugged from it. Mr. Fry eyed his table, bloated of the guy’s gut wedging further in with each thirsting swallow, his belt stressed to the point of fraying around his sloshing frame. 

 

Chili grunted at his boss’ nudge to his knee, looking down to the sweat drenched man. “You heard him! Go grab the rest of it!” Chili gave a low sigh as protest, wandering back to his kitchen. 

 

Mr. Fry watched his cook duck under the kitchen door with a pleased huff, hands coming together with a slick squish. “Now, could I get you any-” 

 

 _“BRRRR_ _RRR_ _RRRU_ _UUUUUUUU_ _URUUUUP~_ _O_ _O_ _OOOR_ _RR_ _GH~”_ Mr. Fry barely heard the splitting crack of the table over the ear-splitting number of burps Parsley let rip. The short man was left gawking up at the downright immense gut that looked painfully divided by the - very much bolted down - table. Mr. Fry hardly saw much of the guy’s face past his belly, but he saw a dizzy, unfocused look in his eye. “ _Ooooh,_ m ** _-HIC-_** aan, t _hhhhhat_ ** _really_** hit the ss _s-_ ** _HIC_** _-splot.”_

 

The second - _ second _ \- glass of beer was half drained, the lighter mug set aside with a crumpled bunch of wrappers, Parsley current wolfing down two burgers. One in each hand, Parsley ate them down to scraps in his palms, never slowing; frenzied when he grabbed fries by the handful, heaving breaths swallowed down with mouthfuls of potatoes, barely alternating, just shoving in everything as fast as he could swallow it. His blubbery, bloating gut blew through his buckle, metal lodged somewhere deep under the table. His sides split his undershirt, lovehandles spilling out into the booth, seams of his pants stressed to the limit. 

 

Mr. Fry held his breath when the second of the mugs was up in the air again, Parsley sucking at the rim until foam filled his mouth, pants looking more sheer by the second, Mr. Fry’s face turned beet red at the cheery sight of hearts; threads ripped where the strain was too great, tanned flesh oozing out around the positively  _ adorable  _ boxers. There was a groan that came from Parsley’s gut, just about to  _ split _ in half from the pressure put on it by the burdened table. 

 

Parsley broke away from the mug with a gurgling belch high in his throat, crackling like thunder in the dinner. He squirmed weakly in place, the booth creaking and wood whining around his pinning gut. “ _Oooo-_ ** _OURG_** _-uuugh_ , th’sasshh _ssss-_ ** _HIC_** _-hho_ freakin’ _good._ _Ooof_ , **_s’feels_** like ‘im gonna-” 

 

Mr. Fry took it as a warning, clasping his hands around his ears just as the tremor bubble up and out of Parsley’s gut. 

 

“ **_BRRRRRRRRRR_ ** **_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_ ** UUUUUU RRRRRRR RR **_AAA_ ** **_A_ ** _ AAAAAAAAP~ _ ” 

 

Table all but hidden under his unbelievable distended gut, Parsley puffed feverishly, hands groping whatever flesh he could still reach. “ _ Oooorgh _ , w _ hhhh _ ere  _ mmmm _ uh  _ ffff _ o _ ood _ , c’m _ onnnn _ , ‘m  **_starrrrvin’!_ ** ” 

 

Mr. Fry could hardly believe his eyes, but the guy posed a good question. Before he could yell for his cook, a series of heavy footsteps behind him stole his attention. Mr. Fry and the overly fed Parsley looked over to Chili, face flushed darkly and holding what had to be the biggest sundae they could sell. Ice cream, pink, white and chocolatey brown were scooped over and loaded around a ring of deep fried bananas, whipped cream and colorful drizzle of caramel and strawberries. The mammoth thing had a multitude of cherries on top.

 

Chili shifted in his boots. “I, uh, thought you might want dessert.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Chili is a quiet and bashful GIANT of an amazing cook and all around amazing boy. true to his name, he's got a bunch of chili-colored curly hair and reddish-brown skin. doesnt sneeze when he breathes in spices, also is so TOUGH he can dunk things in hot oil no problem. secretly dreams of being a pastry chef. favorite food is spaghetti and meatballs. not-so-subtle feeder
> 
> Mr. Fry is a short and crispy guy whos actually a young guy who sucks at skin care so much he's super greasy. cleans up nicely when he does, which is never. really cranky and impolite but apparently has a soft spot and (massive crush) on Chili. wears an apron most of the time to hide his belly, kinda shy about it but likes stuffing himself on sendback orders.


End file.
